Grand Canyon

I stand on my hilltop and sip my beer. I look out at the shimmering lights of the city below and sip. A thought, a sip. Two thoughts, two sips. The can is empty, but they come in packs like wolves. I look to the East, a thought that carries a shiver, more of a gulp from that. Images come unbidden, sometime I so hate being an artist. When you make your living with images they come too easily. Every painful thought carries with it the potential for a NC-17 rating. Not suitable for people under the age of 17 or for anyone with a soul, and sadness. Another sip. I look out and think about my work. I try not to think about her.

There is an old movie, Kevin Kline and Danny Glover sit on a curb, they sip themselves. They say"

"It isn't suppose to be like this"

I aggree. I sip. Out there in the darkness she is not with me. Out in the darkness I hide from the images. I look down beside me and can see the footprint where she is suppose to be, they are empty. I sip. The beer goes sour in my throat. Not the answer, not to this. I set the half full can down and go inside.

From my desk I can see the lights. I turn on the computer. If I type the images won't come, if I type I won't be so alone. If I talk about it maybe it will be better.

It isn't. I sit at the keyboard and type...and I sip.

It isn't suppose to be like this.